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Melancholy
Skull of the Defiler ---- ::A vast unyielding landscape of cinder, ash, and ruin, the Ashlands are a bleak and desolate place of deafening quiet and despondency that has little equal within the greater world around it. The voluminous range of the Ashlands is one cast from the remains of a dark and brooding sanguine forest; an evil forest that was torched to the ground in its entirity, forging the apocryphal terrain that now stands in its place. ::Even the sky seems perpetually beset with cinder, for while the ash is settled and heavy upon the ground, the sky above fails to hold the same elegance that it should, as even that canvas had been marred by the events of what unfolded across this place, and within the dark and evil forest that once held dominion. ::The ceaseless dunes of black give way to an unusual landmark at this point, for rising out of the eternally blighted desert of ash can a bone white monolith be found. An ominous monument indeed, upon closer one might note it to be the remains of a giant skull of a creature unique in its monstrosity, shaped somewhat like the head of a canine, yet featuring massive curved tusks and vast pointed horns upon the dome of that charred and burned skull. ::It was, without a doubt, an evil creature indeed - although what that creature was, and what fate it would have held for Fastheld, will remain forever unknown. Although hideous, and though clearly twisted by powers darker than night, the lifeless skull remains a source of shelter for those seeking refuge from the endless wastes around them. ---- "Good luck seeing much," Vhramis replies with a small shrug, frowning. "Maybe it'll calm down once it hits one of us in the eye. Probably what it was after all along. Just trying to blind one of us." A second clap of thunder crashes within the cold night sky, and then a third, and then another, and another, and another. Cracks of sound that soon take on a semblance more akin to the snap of a whip than the rumble of atmospheric discharge and angry storm clouds. The snap of leather continues to boom across the landscape, regardless of the lack of any ownership belonging to either the low breeze or dark puffy clouds in the sky. It's not exactly bad weather, after all - but there's more than one thing in the heavens that could be considered a force of nature. Namely, the metallic crimson sheen of a drake in flight upon the southern horizon. "It wasn't this bad back on the Bight!" yells Norran over the thunder, unable to tell the difference between weather and the wings of a drake. Retribution is carefully returned to the baldric on his back, covering his ears with chainmailed hands as he stares toward the maw of the skull. "He's here." States Lucius rather calmly. Quickly, he turns around to go retrieve all of his possessions, especially his glowing seraphite shield which is strapped onto his arm prominently. "C'mon, c'mon, let's go!" The Marshal turns once more to head out of the skull. It takes a second for Lucius' declaration to sink in to Vhramis, though when it does, the man rises with a start, eyes wide. "He's here? Light.." He scrambles to his feet, leaning down to scoop up the blue glowing bow and his few other possessions, and moves quickly to the entrance of the skull. It's then that he frowns. "The dust storm is settling. Figures. Right on cue." "No complaints, here!" answers Norran with a laugh, rushing through the ash to pick up his shield and haversack. The haversack is tossed onto his back over his baldric, while the shield is slung over his shoulder by the steel chain attached to it. This much done, he turns to run off after Lucius through the skull, chainmail sounding his steps. One crack follows another; that flowing in the wake of the one that came before it in a steady, rhythmic beat of draconian wings. The sound shatters the heavens with turbulence, the red dragon gaining velocity before spreading those great wings out to their full length and shifting effortlessly into a reticent glide darting through clouds and ether with the utmost grace, tail narrowly sweeping behind his relatively sleek form. And then, abruptly, he angles towards the great skull in the middle of the sea of cinders. And then he changes his pitch from a glide into a dive. And then those depthless eyes of crystal amber narrow. The dragon swoops, and at once the silence makes more noise than the thunder before it. Once he's outside of the skull, Lucius mashes through the just settled ash towards where he saw the crimson drake, Val'sharax flying... and then abruptly stops. He'd only ever seen the dragon in the far distance once at Crown's Reach, and is rather shocked by the sight of him. More specifically, the drake diving down is the sight that shocks him. He cannot avert his gaze, however, and simply stares, expression becoming more neutral even as his own fate becomes less sure in his mind. Vhramis likewise emerges from the skull, and is equally captivated by the sight of Val'sharax diving. Both majestic and terrifying at the same time. The indescribable fear begins to sink into the man, borne of the proximity of one of the Great Drakes, and he swallows heavily, eyes widening a bit, his feet rooting to the spot. Norran's reaction is only somewhat different from the others as he emerges from the skull by Vhramis and Lucius. He notices the huge crimson figure diving down at through in the night's sky and at first almost moves as if to dive into the ash before them. He's halted however, as he cannot seem to tear his widened eyes away from the sight quickly approaching. And so Va'sharax swoops upon the prey below, wings angled to accomplish the best possible velocity as he dives towards the ashen desert below, claws stretching to strike quick and mercilessly, head lowered slightly, jaw parted... ...only to miss the trio entirely, sweeping over and - just as quickly - beyong the party just feet from the ground to bank high into the air once more and into the northen skies, where the Dragon circles around for a second pass. Lucius Nepos narrows his eyes a little bit, shoulders lowering and posture generally relaxing as the Great Drake swoops upward back into the skies after making a pass. "He's toying with us." Despite this, Lucius draws the Lady's Aegis a bit closer to his body. "Does he usually do this?" Vhramis shudders as the Crimson Drake passes overhead, nearly falling over. He steadies himself and turns to watch him turn in the air, the pathfinder nodding his head slightly. "..he has a sense of humor, and likes amusement," is how he explains. "Be careful." "Perhaps he's just drawing us out, getting our attention. It's worked," Norran mutters aloud as he stares skyward, body rigid as he maintains his patience. After those words, he remains silent. His hands do not linger on the hilt of his Fortitude, for what would be the point? The Crimson Drake's second pass is somewhat less intimidating than the first it seems. Again the Dragon angles towards the party, and again he drops into a glide, spreading those vast wings to their full span on either side of his body. Yet this time the descent of Val'sharax the Arbitrator is much more refined; an elegant spiral that brings him to an unusually gentle landing upon the desert floor, claws rending deep furrows into the cinder and ash beneath him and he settles into a posture that permits him to remain on all fours. Yet, with all his size, and regardless of those same insufferable claws, he does not seem to displace any ash, nor leave any marks upon the fine sediment beneath him. His lashing tail leaves no evidence of its passing, his wings kick up no dust as they furl behind him, and equally no debris from the vast desolate wastes fall upon his form. Whatever storm may have ravaged this area is all but gone now, too. "You're going to wrong way." he remarks, a rumble of dry mirth flowing upon his words as he regards the three with that depthless gaze, "Fastheld is to the south." Lucius Nepos has seen a Drake before, sure, but not one with a sense of humor. This also doesn't discount the fact that seeing a Drake in front of one's face is really quite shocking. The Marshal stares for a moment or two, before giving Val'sharax a respectful nod. He leaves the talking to Vhramis, though. The wrong way? Hard to debate that, when one is surrounded by the devastation of the Ashlands. Vhramis manages to force himself to take a step forward from his fellow, licking his dry lips. With a dip of his head to the large drake, he steels himself to speak. "We went the right way to be found by you," he answers, quietly at first, before forcing himself to talk louder, staring up to the depthless eyes of the drake. "We met with Marrokamir. We think he was subverted… and I remember what you said of my people dabbling in things not of their nature." Norran remains fairly rigid, looking almost blankly at the massive form in front of him. His brows definitely raise even further as the creature speaks, the Lomasa's head actually tilting a slight degree as he peers toward the drake. Curiosity satisfied for now, the horseman straightens his back and keeps at Vhramis' side, wordless as he listens and watches. "*Found* being a subjective term." Val'sharax notes in those deep yet rich draconian intones, each word measured and calculated, dripping with power and purpose. "Location of *MY* choosing is, perhaps, *FAR* more apt." He somewhat smiles at that; a contradicting expression that is at once both reassuring, cold, and utterly deadly. Regardless, the Dragon tilts his head to the left as he considers the words spoken by those that stand before him and, after folding his ears back against his wedge-shaped head, settles back onto his flanks in a dignified posture of sitting. "You did not, I suspect, plan this through very well, did you Vhramis Wolfsbane?" The smile vanishes, the Dragon grants a cursory glance towards the heavens with a swift tilt of his head, and then his gaze returns to the trio once more, tail swishing softly behind his form. "Regardless, I did indeed state that, did I not? However, I fail to see this "subversion" that you speak of. Has the character of the Composer, his morals, or allegiances, been somehow corrupted by forces beyond the scope of normal comprehension? Has he somehow been laid to ruin? Are there elements at work that go beyond the sphere of understand that even *I* and NOT AWARE OF, do you think?" "He and our pitiful Emperor have an 'agreement' which they've reached. While the Emperor is a mage, I doubt he's powerful enough to influence Marrokamir with his magic." Lucius states impassively, eyes locked onto one of Val'sharax's massive orbs which peers down on him and his comrades. He shifts the Lady's Aegis over his midsection. This is going well already. Vhramis winces a bit at that, resisting the urge to lean backwards at the chiding. "He spoke of a task that Zolor was going to have him perform. And, yes, he was tricked, and manipulated thus far. Manipulated into thinking he needs protection, for some reason, from a man who all but sent forth the Church after him in the first place. Perhaps he doesn't wish to do more harm unto people, but regardless, he's going to do a service in repayment for it," grimaces Wolfsbane. He gestures off in general direction of the south. "You've already said he represents a taint not easily removed. And if he does this, what will happen then?" Norran gives a nod to his compatriots, calming himself enough to regard the drake and finally begin to speak. "We warned the Emperor what he would do to those Scourges," respectfully explains the bold, but obviously cultured tone of the Lomasa, "He refused to intervene. Scourges were smitten, blind as they are. Now, the stranger claims the Zahir offers him protection from the Church? No coincidences, in that. He admitted to us his...powers have grown significantly from what he remembers." Norran pauses at this, before his lips curl into an almost unnoticeable grin. "Refused to speak further on his arrangement, in Vhramis' presence. Claims Vhramis a pawn of yours, o' Drake, and knows he would tell you. Does not like you very much, I think." The glare that is bestowed upon one Norran Lomasa is cold enough to freeze blood. The Dragon just sits there, eyes narrowed, and says nothing further. Lucius Nepos can't help but look back and glare, too, at Norran. "Shut up or I'll shut you up myself." He says simply, before looking back at Val'sharax, rather expectantly. And Vhramis slowly looks skyward, uttering a silent plea to something or another, clenching his hands into tight fists. "Please, Arbitrator," he speaks again, trying to smooth things over. "I know you work for Balance, and in a sense, I try to also, as a Pathfinder. If you know of the deal made between Marrokamir and Zolor Zahir, please, tell us, so that perhaps we can stop this from progressing further." Norran's first reaction, however, is not fear. Perhaps he lacks the sense to feel it. Instead, his next reaction is quiten odd; he frowns. He frowns deeply, apparently looking genuinely unhappy that Val'Sharax is unhappy. Or maybe that he may have said something that could cause his life to be snuffed out or perhaps grievously maimed. Despite this, Norran slowly bows his head to the drake, eyes cast downward toward the ash. "I mean absolutely no disrespect to you, of course, o' Drake," subordinately corrects the Lomasa aloud, glancing toward Lucius as he speaks, "Vhramis told us not to sweeten our words, so I didn't! Threatening eachother infront of him is not a progressive form of discussion." "Attempt to goad me again, Norran Lomasa," Val'sharax warns in no uncertain terms, "And I shall see to it that you become a part of this desolate landscape." His eyes narrow once more, deadly intent written clearly upon his visage. "Do you THINK that I CARE about the Composer's opinions? Do I SEEM concerned to you?" The Drakes snarls a final admonishment before regarding Vhramis once more, his tone brightening just a little to something that substantially lacks the previous promise of impending doom. "You are, of course, wasting my time." It would seem that the Crimson Drake is finally cutting to the (proverbial) heart of the matter, shifting as he does so back into a standing position, rising onto all fours with a fluid grace beyond what one might expect from a creature his size. "What you have witnessed is a standard deal between one entity and another. That one is an Emperor and the other a Composer is a trivial issue. The power of speech is not an element that may tears the realms asunder, nor is the gift of persuasion a great and dark art, Vhramis Wolfsbane. I regret to inform you that your errand has been one of folly. Free will is not easily manipulated, and for a creature such as Marrokamir to make a pact with one such as Zolor Zahir is an event that is no more substantial than that between the late Talus Kahar and he who was known as Faeyd. That which has been done has been done within the constraints of the mortal races. The Balance is maintained, even if you do not wish it to be so. The Natural Order will adapt to the changes that the Composer has wrought within the flow of Sho'drakar." "The Scourge of the Church of True Light chose their own fate, seeking glory or ruin with their own free will. The Composer will do the same. The Balance," the Dragon reiterates, "is maintained." Lucius Nepos can do little but nod his head when the Drake's tirade is finished, sighing very quietly to himself and leaning on his shield, which he absently begins to pat. His eyes wander off into the dark sky. Vhramis furrows his brows at that, glancing to Norran, and making a gesture for him to cool it. Just in case Val'sharax's threat didn't work. Turning back to regard the dragon, he takes another small step forward, inhaling deeply. "Arbitrator, but for Marrokamir to be a strain upon the balance, wouldn't any dealings with him only complicate that? Let me serve you. If there is anything I can do to aid you in removing this taint, with minimal loss of life to my countrymen, please, ask it of me." "Of course, o' Drake. My /sincerest/ apologies," loudly responds Norran to the crimson drake, his tone both apologetic and thankful as he keeps his emerald gaze lowered to the ash-covered ground. "You heard him, Vhramis. Our fate is our own. Let us return to our home while he still have one in which to return, and trouble this one no longer." Norran's words, however, seem more of a suggestion than that of an order or a demand. Norran's eyes remain cast toward the ground, while he keeps his stance beside Vhramis. Perhaps quite unexpectedly the Crimson Drake known as Val'sharax the Arbitrator *sighs* deeply, regarding Vhramis with an expression that one might almost label as pity. "You mortal races," he softly intones, "You risk the very thing you seek to avoid by mere suggestion of such a path; that such trappings of power can won over with deals and trades, yet all the while refuse to see the competence inherent within yourselves, nor trust in the path that you each walk. You would wish for forces far greater than your comprehension to solve each and every problem, no matter how small, to carry you down the road until you forget that which is worthy of the true attention of a creature such as I." He pauses for a moment, shakes his head, and then turns away from the three, tail slipping behind his sleek form in his wake. "You have heard of the Cataclysm, I assume?" A second pause, a second glance back, a second warning that transcends spoken word in that /look/ he gives the three. "The result of the very same abuse of power that you now seek from me; the solution to all the problems you percieve in one fell swoop. It is not to be so. Not again. Your path stretches out before you; have faith in the Balance and the potential of your species, or blindly seek ruin like those who came before you. Regardless, you must walk it alone." Norran gets another one of /those/ looks from Lucius, before the Marshal sweeps his gaze up to Val'sharax's warning. "The problem is that our own kind is so blind in their own beliefs that they know not where the path really is, and roam blindly through the woods. Thank you for your time, Arbitrator." Mirroring his earlier actions, he nods respectfully. "I don't seek power," Vhramis replies to Val'sharax, staring at the dragon as it heads off. "Nor do I expect anything to be solved for me. I just seek the best, as I do see it, like you say." He shrugs a bit at that, seeming a bit ready to collapse. "My thanks, and farewell." "I don't think our /kind/ are the blind ones, merely our leaders. The Church is helpless. There have been no riots, no outcry at recent events. Numbed, the lot of them," challenges Norran of Lucius, a faint frown remaining across his lips as he turns to look toward what he can only assume is south. "The drake tells us to have faith in our people. Wait, in other words. Why disagree?" This much said, he glances toward Vhramis and quirks a brow. "I'll consider my trip a worthwhile one if the rest of you will. Should we return home?" "Oh but you *do*, Vhramis Wolfsbane." Val'sharax offers as he paces off towards the western reaches of the Ashlands, wings unfurling behind him to fan to their full width as the Dragon prepares to take to the heavens once more. "You seek mine." In the space of a heartbeat, the Crimson Drake is away, wings snapping up and down before the sleek form of the dragon ascends once more towards the celestial sphere above. It isn't long before he becomes just another star upon the obsidian canvas overheard, and then... gone. The winds begin to pick up again soon after; ash and cinder swirling in torrents and clouds, the starlit heavens swallowed beneath a haze of ashen mist. However, one might also note that Val'sharax made little noise as he took the skies. Indeed, none at all... ---- ''Return to Season 4 (2006) Category:Logs